Company For A Lonely Elf
by attheturnofthetide
Summary: Glorfindel's ghosts, accompanied by plum (juice? cider? liquid? whatever it is), the four children of Elrond, and an unfortunate flight of stairs. Slightly morbid, but slightly optimistic at the same time. Happy new year!


_TERMS_

 _Adar: "father" (formal)_

 _Naneth: "mommy" (informal)_

 _Imladris: another name for Rivendell_

 _Valier: queens of the Valar_

 _NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:_

 _Thank the Valar for my stupid sense of humour (Should I even call it a sense of humour? I don't even know). If I didn't have it, this would've ended up much more depressing._

 _Thank the Valar for Lily Lindsey-Aubrey as well. Her works pulled me back into the clutches of the LotR fandom - or, should I say, the LotR fandom hype. This one is dedicated to her and Mirlasse, who once reviewed The Trouble With Love in its first publication/edition/appearance. Both of them are amazing! Happy new year to both of you, and to anyone reading this!_

Company for a Lonely Elf

Sometimes Glorfindel thinks he can hear the voices of his people, screaming and shouting and surrounding him almost stiflingly.

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can see the banners of his house and the blue of his cloak, the glint of silver in his hand, the overwhelming mass of black and red that is the Balrogs.

Sometimes, even though he covers his ears, he can hear the yelling of the warriors and the splash of water as Ecthelion plunges with Gothmog into the fountain. He can feel the speckle of blood against his skin, the roughness of his sword's hilt, the drumlike thump in his heart. And when he jolts upright into reality, panting and sweat-streaked, the roar of battle still echoes within his chest. Names burst forth from his lips feverishly, furiously, endlessly: _Ecthelion. Tuor. Idril. Earendil. Adar. Naneth._

Often, on nights such as this, he cannot force himself back into slumber for fear of the fire and death that will greet him in his dreams. Most times, he sits in bed, eyes half-closed and pulse racing, until the sun graces the crown of the valley. His rumpled blanket covers his legs and his breath slows eventually, but even during the day when laughter is loud and smiles are joyful, he can still feel the shadow of fear hover over him.

Tonight, he can't stand to stay in bed. He has always prized the rush of hot eagerness in his veins during battle, but it tires him now, and he cannot be rid of the memories that still haunt him in the corners of his mind.

Glorfindel slipped out of his room and found a spot to sit by the steps of Imladris. The night was no longer young, but the sun had yet to rise over the east. He let his old and exhausted self slump over, arms on his knees and head on his arms. The quiet lull of the valley soothed him. No elf had awakened from their rest, no bird had opened their beak, no deer or rabbit had raised their head in the shade of the trees. He was alone in the silence, and that both pained and comforted him.

"Alone? Not exactly," a voice interrupted his thoughts. The flesh-rippling cold of a glass bottle pressed against his skin and he jolted upright, spinning around.

"You four again," Glorfindel grumbled, relaxing slightly. And it was exactly that: the twins grinned at him, each holding a bottle filled with rosy, purplish liquid. Behind him, Arwen yawned, clutching the hem of her nightgown, and Estel murmured something unintelligible, eyelids drooping. "It's not morning yet, go back to bed."

As luck would have it, the twins had inherited Earendil's stubborn-as-a-mule personality, as well as his irritatingly hard to shake determination. Glorfindel grunted grumpily as Elladan and Elrohir plopped down beside him. Gently, Arwen followed suit, seating herself on his right. She scooped Estel into her arms, yawning again, and an alarm sounded in his head. The image of Elrond's Eyebrows of Doom pounded its fist against the door of his head repeatedly.

OKAY, he thought grimly. Duty calls, and all.

"Your father will hear about this," Glorfindel warned in his sternest voice.

"He already knows," Elrohir said, grinning. He'd had his fair share of stern voices, and besides, he knew from experience that Glorfindel's was rather feeble. "He's the one who sent us here, after all."

 _That little son of an orc,_ Glorfindel thought tiredly. _What's he trying to do?_

Elladan smirked at him in delight, teeth flashing, and Ecthelion's face flashed across his memory. His jaw tightened painfully. For a moment, he could smell smoke and hear sizzling water.

"Leave," he said. His voice rang harsher than he'd intended it to.

Beside him, Arwen tugged at his sleeve.

He looked down. Her angelic face, framed by long, dark hair and sparkling with childish concern, made his heart soften. But only a little bit.

"Leave," he repeated, and the desperation that had been gripping his body leaked into his voice.

Elrohir popped the cork off the bottle and poured him a cup. The gap between his teeth stared back at Glorfindel, and with a groaning sigh, the golden-haired warrior took the goblet.

 _I give up,_ he thought glumly.

"Is this… mead?" Glorfindel swished the liquid around in the cup, sniffing suspiciously. "Thranduil's, I believe."

"No," Elladan said. "Well, yes, it's from Uncle Thranduil, but it's plum-flavoured."

He grimaced at the thought, but downed the whole cup in one go.

"Don't," he nearly barked as Elrohir cheerfully poured Arwen a cup.

"Why not?" replied the elfling cheekily.

"It'll make her drunk, is why," Glorfindel said gruffly. He'd seen Celebrian drunk before, and he wasn't sure how alcohol would affect Arwen, but seeing how many similarities the two shared, the result would probably be the same.

He shuddered at the memory, giving Arwen his Stern Look.

"No, it won't," Arwen interjected indignantly. The Stern Look did not affect her either. Apparently, Elrond's Eyebrows of Doom made her immune to anything less vehement. "It's plum juice."

He winced as her gaze connected with his. The same gentle strength in her eyes - fierce and calm at the same time - mirrored Idril's.

What was in this plum juice, or whatever the substance was, anyway? It was hovering between too sweet and not sweet enough. He scowled darkly.

Glorfindel took a minute to curse the blasted son of Oropher, the scheming son of Earendil, and his rotten luck before letting Elrohir refill his cup again. The silky, syrupy feeling of Mirkwood's best plums washed down his throat, and for a moment, he almost forgot Gondolin.

Almost.

"Why did your father send you to me?" he asked wearily.

"He said you were lonely," said Arwen.

"He said you needed company," said Elrohir.

"He said you were being an angsty teenager with insomnia problems," said Elladan.

"Blearghhhh-hic!-bleck-HACKHACKHACKHACK," said Estel.

"Arwen, you're pouring your plum juice into Estel's nose," Glorfindel said sourly, feeling a little offended. And rightly so - Elrond had no right to call a person lonely, or in need of company, or an angsty teenager with insomnia problems, or whatever Estel had been trying to say. He didn't need anyone's help. He needed - he needed -

"You need comforting," said Arwen firmly.

"And company," added Elrohir.

"And sleep medicine," suggested Elladan.

"Gofidel," mumbled Estel.

Glorfindel did not know how to reply to this, so he shut his mouth and stared straight into the trees, taking a gulp of plum whatever-it-was.

"Do you want to talk about anything?" asked Arwen.

He squinted. That tree sure looked like a squirrel. It was leaning over to the side, and had a giant pinecone right where an eye ought to be.

"Maybe some more plum juice," urged Elrohir.

No, actually, it looked more like a fish. There were little clumps of pine needles that served as fins.

"Or we can get Lindir to play you some music," offered Elladan.

Glorfindel threw his hands in the air. No, it was just a tree. It didn't look like a squirrel or a fish. Why was he even thinking about this?

Estel began to bawl. Loudly.

Glorfindel jumped, eyes bulging. Out of all the skills he'd garnered over the years, child rearing was still not one of them.

"What is it, Estel?" he said a little awkwardly. The little boy's cheeks were beginning to turn red, and his voice was slowly climbing in volume. This did not bode well with Glorfindel. He was adamantly certain that the elves of Imladris, soft-hearted or not, would _not_ appreciate being woken up by a child's screams.

"G-G-GOFI," Estel wailed.

His three siblings immediately fixated accusing stares in his direction. Glorfindel paled rapidly. What was an elf supposed to do with a crying baby? Pat its back and tell it to be a man? No, that was a bad idea…

"GOFIIIII," Estel said again.

"Yes, but what _about_ Gofi?" said Arwen, stroking the child's back slowly.

Ah, yes, that was a good idea, Glorfindel thought, nodding to himself. When dealing with a crying baby, find a female. Celebrian would probably argue against that, and so would Galadriel, but they weren't here at the moment: Elrond's wife was in bed, and the Lady was in Lothlorien. So they couldn't tell him he was wrong.

"GOFI - " Estel began, and started howling again.

"Here, you take care of him," Arwen commanded, shoving Estel into Glorfindel's arms.

"What?" Never mind, he shouldn't have trusted female elves in the first place. Scheming creatures. Just like their fathers. "Why?"

"It's your fault, so you take care of it," Elladan and Elrohir chorused flatly.

Glorfindel gulped and looked down at Estel's sniveling face.

"What's wrong, Estel?" he asked gently, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "What's wrong?"

"I dun," Estel said, shuddering. He heaved another breath. "I dun want Gofi to be sad."

Glorfindel didn't need to turn around to feel the three identical glares of the Elrond clan dig into his back.

"Why not?" he said. It was the only thing he could think of saying.

"Dun WANT," the poor child repeated. He breathed in, preparing to unleash another storm of tears, and Glorfindel's mind went into a pitiable state of panic.

"No, no," he said hastily. "If Estel doesn't want Gofi to be sad, Gofi won't be sad."

"But - " Estel said, voice cracking and climbing several octaves. "But - _Butbutbut_ \- "

"But what?"

Glorfindel was beginning to feel very thankful that he had never married.

"But GOFI STILL SAAAAD," Estel sobbed.

"You," said Elrohir.

"Are," said Elladan.

"The worst babysitter in the entirety of Arda," they finished together quite grimly.

"Thank you," Glorfindel replied grumpily.

Turning to Estel, he said, "Well, Gofi will try not to be sad anymore, is that okay?"

"Okay," Estel sniffed, rubbing his tears away.

"You do know that your name is _Glorfindel,_ right?" said one of the twins drily.

Sighing in relief, Glorfindel rewarded his first babysitting success with another cup of plum juice. Only to turn around and see a silently weeping Arwen.

"WHAT?" he hollered, dropping his goblet. It tumbled down the steps, spilling pinkish purple pools in its wake. Seeing as it was a rather large goblet, there was considerable damage to the pristine marble.

 _Oh, dear,_ he thought miserably. Maybe if he spilled more of it, Elrond would think the colour of the stairs had shifted overnight. Hesitantly, Glorfindel grabbed what was left of the bottle and let its innards spill across the rest of the steps.

"Good Valar," he said in utter surprise when his method failed to work.

"Shhh," hissed the twins, and he remembered with dismay that it was now two children crying instead of one.

"I don't want you to be sad, either," Arwen said, tears streaming down her face.

Glorfindel had _had_ it. What was with children and crying? Maybe they considered it a future occupation, or something? Anyway, that plum juice was going to leave a stain if left unheeded. Elrond wouldn't be happy with that at all.

Maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all.

Not to mention, Arwen cried just like her mother. Which is to say, like one of the Valier. An expression of utter sorrow and betrayal marring her perfect face, making him feel guilty when he'd done absolutely nothing to wrong her.

Her heart-shaped face positively shone with saltwater, and her mouth was parted gently in suffering. She looked like the spokesperson (spokeself?) for misery, anguish, and agony.

Glorfindel wanted to go back to bed and burrow his face into his pillow. All he'd learned tonight was that all of Elrond's children were just as insufferable as Elrond himself.

Maybe he was an unconsciously time-traveling elf or something like that, because the next thing he knew, he was holding on to all the children of Elrond. Or, to be precise, they were holding on to him. Arwen sat in his lap, crying into his shirt pitifully, and Estel was clinging to his arm like a monkey (He also looked asleep. Glorfindel wondered how he'd managed to do that). Elladan had climbed on his shoulders and Elrohir was sitting on his head. Both of them were trying to contort his mouth into a smile with their sticky fingers.

He uncorked the second bottle and chugged some plum juice despairingly. Liquid tumbled down his mouth and over the sides, nearly drowning Arwen, whose sorrows were seeming to multiply by the second. She began to cry harder, and by doing this, promptly woke Estel, who began to scream.

He thought, _This couldn't possibly get any worse._

But it did. Because the twins began to cry as well.

Without him noticing, the sun had already shot into the sky, spreading pleasant hues of orange, gold, and pink into the murky darkness. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the warmth flooding across his face, but he couldn't, really, because there were four little ones holding onto him for dear life, making so much noise that he was sure he'd go completely deaf by the time the first elf in Imladris awoke.

And that - in that position, in that location, and in that emotional state - was where Elrond found them.

There sat Glorfindel the Balrog-slayer on the steps of Imladris: hair resembling a haphazard bird's nest; mouth, chin, and shirt stained light purple; with children clinging to him like glue. Arwen was snuffling, hair soaked with the same purple liquid; Estel was blubbering, snot dribbling down his nose; and the twins were crimson-faced and damp-haired.

"GO _FI_ ," howled four voices.

Elrond, having donned a fluffy robe, boggled at the amazing sight in disbelief. Four crying children sat on a full-grown elf who looked like he was on the brink of bursting into tears as well. He stared with wide eyes, unmoving, for about fifteen minutes, then began to laugh uncontrollably.

Needless to say, Glorfindel was not amused. Neither was the half-elven's children; they all began to wail harder.

"ELROND EARENDILION, I SWEAR - " Glorfindel roared.

"Gofi, don't be _sad_ \- "

"How did this happen?" Elrond said, trying to recover (and failing badly). "I thought I told those four to comfort you. And now _you're_ the one comforting them."

"Goooofiiii!"

Glorfindel called him something rude, impolite, and unsuitable for any elfling of any age's ears.

"Well, go on, help the poor elf," Celebrian snickered, unable to contain herself. She'd appeared next to Elrond, and was nibbling on a roll. As always, her hair was impeccable, her dress without smudges or wrinkles, and her eyes shimmering with unconcealed mirth.

Glorfindel saw her and went indigo.

"You and your accursed genes," he cried. "Arwen not only cries like an angel, she and her siblings are just as sneaky as you two. Plum juice - squirrel fish trees - nicknames - _babysitting -_ All I wanted was a nice night. _IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR_?"

"Well, I admit this turned out far more… extreme than I had anticipated," Elrond said slowly.

"THAT MUST BE THE UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR," Glorfindel shouted, tears beginning to make his eyes sting. Life was so _unfair._ Why was everyone targeting him today? "I'm going to bed now, and not even you, young man, can stop me. So _there_!"

"I haven't heard Glorfindel call me 'young man' in years," marveled Elrond.

"I haven't heard Glorfindel say 'so there' in _centuries_ ," his wife shot back.

Elves peeked out from within Imladris, yawning and rubbing their eyes, wondering what all the commotion was about.

"Is it morning already?" Lindir said, clutching his knitted bear.

"I smell plums," Silinde added, sniffing loudly.

"Glorfindel, what are you _doing_?" Galdor said, appalled.

"Leave me _be_ ," Glorfindel moaned, as Celebrian collapsed in a fit of giggles.

Elrond knelt down, grinning like an adolescent elf.

"Well, did it work, Gofi?" he asked cheerfully.

"Did what work," Glorfindel snarled. He was _this close_ to throwing a hissy fit. More elves were appearing, blinking at the rush of sunlight, and staring at him. And calling him weird names.

"Did their company and plum juice work?"

Glorfindel fell silent, and his eyes widened in realization. He could no longer felt his heart pumping red-hot fire into his veins. He could no longer see gold and silver shining, scarlet pooling, black and red reeling in fury. He could no longer hear voices begging him for help, shouting for weapons, calling his name again and again and again.

"... Yes, I suppose so."

Elrond studied him closely, then nodded.

"What if it… comes back?" Glorfindel said quietly. "I've had enough death. No - I've seen and heard and felt it one time too many. Will it ever leave?"

Elrond did not have to ask him to know that he was talking about the darkness that always edged his dreams and waited at every corner. He stood, offering his friend a hand.

"No, I don't think it'll ever leave," he said reflectively. "At least, not in this life. If you think you can't bear the burden of it anymore, I'll organize a ship for Valinor immediately. I am sure you will find peace there. But if not - " He shrugged. "Many elves have their shadows. They keep them, deciding to remain in Middle Earth with their loved ones. Your shadows are deeper than mine. No doubt they won't leave you - not entirely, anyways. But there is always hope, isn't there?"

"You have friends and family here," Celebrian added, smiling. "People who love you. Who want to take care of you. And, coincidentally, who want to wail and cry all over you," she added, giving her children a dry glance. "But that's only if you let them care for you. If that's not enough to keep back your dark memories, I don't know what will."

Glorfindel took Elrond's hand, heaving himself up and trying not to grimace about the weight he was carrying on his back. But Arwen and Estel slowly dropped into their mother's arms, and the twins clambered down without any prompting, much to his pleasant surprise.

That didn't mean he was very happy about the half-elven's words, though.

Glorfindel stabbed a disgruntled finger at Elrond.

"I'm not that old," he snapped, giving the elven lord the stink eye. "I think I can handle my life by myself. And I don't appreciate you setting up traps for me using your children and Thranduil's dubious drinks, either. But - "

He paused, and his face flickered begrudgingly.

"I don't mind your children fussing over me," he muttered. "And I don't mind staying here. I think Valinor can wait a while."

"Oh?" Elrond raised his eyebrows. "What is this sudden change of mind?"

"I like the people here," Glorfindel mumbled, his voice dropping. Celebrian noted brightly that his cheeks were stained slightly red. " _Andbesidesit'smyhomenow_."

The idiotic and aggravatingly smug-looking son of Earendil had the cheek to feign deafness, the nerve of him. He cupped his hand around his ear, beckoning in an exaggerated fashion.

"What?" he drawled. "I didn't hear you. Come again?"

A vein popped in Glorfindel's forehead, and he growled deep in his throat.

"I SAID," he bellowed, face red from either anger or embarrassment, or both, "IT'S MY HOME NOW. HAPPY?"

"Quite," replied Elrond, looking very self-satisfied. "Home… eh?"

And Glorfindel looked over the beautiful, flourishing valley: squirrel fish trees, empty plum juice bottles, softly weeping children, and all, and, with some reluctance, but much happiness, nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched screech mere inches away from his ear. Glorfindel clapped both hands over his ears, spinning around, only to see Elrond clutching his white-as-milk face, eyes bugging out. His finger shook as he pointed vaguely, mouth gaping open like a fish's.

"Glorfindel, you little Balrog, _why are my stairs purple_?"


End file.
